They discussed the book in his hand, and Cecil discovered that Captain Gordon was very familiar with the poet. He read well, and good reading is such a rare accomplishment. His accent was irreproachable; and if there was a charm in his full rich voice when he spoke English, the charm was still greater when he spoke French. He spoke French and German to perfection, for he had been well grounded in both languages, though not very materially advanced in either at Eton or Oxford; and he had spent a considerable part of his youth wandering from city to city with a private tutor, a retired Austrian officer, who was both learned and accomplished, and who adored his pupil. When two people, both under the age of thirty, discover that they admire the same poet, they have gone half-way towards a pleasant intimacy. After that discussion of Victor Hugo, and the reading aloud that followed, and the desultory talk about Germany and German literature, India and Indian politics, London, and common friends and acquaintances who were to be met there, that succeeded the poetical lecture, Lady Cecil Chudleigh quite forgot all her old fancies about Captain Gordon, and resigned herself to the idea of his visit. And after this they were the best friends in the world, and Mrs. MacClaverhouse was quite contented to allow Cecil a share in her boy's society. She was a very sensible woman in her way, and liked the society of young people when it was to be had cheaply. Hector and Cecil's animated discussions upon almost all subjects to be found between earth and heaven amused the widow as she basked in the sunshine, seated in her pet chair before a window with her favourite aspect. She astonished the young people very often by the shrewdness of the remarks with which she cut in upon them, smiting their pretty fanciful theories into atoms with the sledge-hammer of common-sense. Altogether she was very well satisfied with the aspect of affairs. If the motherless lad whom she loved so tenderly, and thought of as a lad in spite of his seven-and-twenty years--if Hector Gordon had been a landless younger son, with his fortune to carve out for himself, Mrs. MacClaverhouse would no doubt have loved him dearly, for the sake of his blue eyes and his frank handsome face, his generous nature and gladsome soul; but she would scarcely perhaps have loved him quite so much, or looked for his coming quite so gladly under such circumstances as she did now, when all the blessings or pleasures that wealth can purchase attended his footsteps wherever he went, and created an atmosphere of luxury around and about the dwelling in which he lived. A hungry nephew, always hard-up, and in need of pecuniary assistance, would have been a heavy trial to Mrs. MacClaverhouse.